Half-A-Cat is what I glimpsed one fateful Winter morn,
squarely struck by semi truck, its body had been torn.
The lower half I did not see, it tumbled far behind,
the upper half still snapped and snarled, having lost its mind.
Instinct told this Half-A-Cat to attack its source of pain,
but agony beyond the pale had driven it insane.
Like a feline ouroboros, it consumed its own entrails,
intestines dangling from the mangling that leaving Half-A-Cat entails.
Body rended, nine lives ended, Halfcat is no more,
awfully fated, relegated to a blur of chrome and gore.
Big and heavy, Ford or Chevy, asphalt and cement,
in a hurry, no time for furry critters, I lament.
Nobody will bury you, and only I will mourn,
this world’s too big, too cold, and hard, for the fragile, soft, and warm.
Rest in pieces Halfcat, and given that there's two,
the angels will have their work cut out reassembling you.